Of all the wordy songsmiths who emerged in the mid-’00s — and there are plenty — Will Sheff of Okkervil River always has been the most direct. If he wanted to write a song about a complicated subject like, say, watching an army officer justify his crimes against civilians, he’d approach the narrative as if he were authoring a short story. He’d give plot details, set the scene, introduce characters in rough chronological order and double back in the final verse to make sure listeners picked up on the themes and parallels.

All that goes out the window on “I Am Very Far.” The Texas folk-rock band’s sixth album is destined to be remembered as Sheff’s embrace of the mysterious — a detour into complicated shadows before his inevitable return to the concrete and specific. He hasn’t abandoned storytelling; he’s just taken pains to obscure his protagonist behind a black velvet curtain of dreamlike imagery. The songs are still built like short stories, but it’s often difficult to follow what’s going on, or to puzzle through the significance of Sheff’s dense verses. Spooky, vivid and frequently violent, “I Am Very Far” feels like a dark riddle, and a direct response to the songwriter’s reputation as a lucid spinner of tales.

Sometimes Sheff seems to be stringing together ominous descriptors for the play of it, as he does on “Your Past Life is a Blast”: “Hotels/Jails/Hospital details/The highway hugs the water/I had to cross a field of screaming fire to see the moonlight on the river.” Like Joanna Newsom, who he is coming to resemble more and more, he loves assonance, alliteration and the pure sound of words — the “drink-clinking brothers” and whitecaps that slap like hand claps — and he has never indulged in those pleasures as fully as he does on this set.

Yet it would be inaccurate to call “I Am Very Far” incoherent. A decade into his career, Sheff has learned how to match his verses with music that helps them resonate. At least twice per song, he’ll drop in a line that speaks straight to existential dread; it’s enough to keep you transfixed, grappling at the strands of meaning he’s weaving.

Okkervil River has never sounded bigger or fuller than it does on “I Am Very Far.” The early mimicry of Bright Eyes and Neutral Milk Hotel is completely gone now, replaced by a close engagement with older folk-rock influences: Tim Buckley, Leonard Cohen, Phil Ochs’ “Crucifixion” and, on the terrifying “Rider,” early Bruce Springsteen. Okkervil decorates Sheff’s 11 hallucinations with strings and woodwinds, distant percussion and backing choirs (Nicole Atkins, sounding nothing like herself, sings on three songs).

Demand “I Am Very Far” to make sense and you’ll be frustrated. Allow it to bleed into your dreams and you’ll be rewarded with fireworks when you close your eyes.

— Tris McCall

"Burst Apart" -- The Antlers

Burst ApartThe Antlers (French Kiss)

Before the release of “Burst Apart,” head Antler Peter Silberman let it be known that he hadn’t attempted to match the intensity of “Hospice,” his prior set. That album — a tale of sickness, death and codependency in a cancer ward — began in howling pain and ended with a ghost story. “Burst Apart” isn’t a linear narrative like “Hospice,” but the specters haven’t gone anywhere; they’re still hovering around Silberman’s head, giving him terrifying visions. On “Every Night My Teeth Are Falling Out,” a slinky, mesmerizing piece of art-pop, he mutters “try, try, try” over and over as he attempts to seize control of his consciousness. Before long, he’s manipulating his vocal, yanking it into sonic silly putty, spreading the contamination across the track and straight into your ear. “Putting the Dog to Sleep,” a deranged waltz, returns him to the harrowing themes of “Hospice.” Some of Silberman’s songs are still too indebted to Radiohead, and a few of the trippier excursions fall flat. But that was true for “Hospice,” too. And now that he’s parking his falsetto elsewhere and singing out more often, you don’t need a lyric sheet to follow his psychic deterioration.

— Tris McCall

I Can Make A Mess Like Nobody's Business -- "Gold Rush"

Gold RushI Can Make a Mess Like Nobody’s Business (Ace Enders)

Well, that was quick. Just five months after threatening retirement because he hadn’t sold enough records, talented Hammonton singer-songwriter Ace Enders of I Can Make a Mess Like Nobody’s Business has come roaring back with a new set. And the subject of “Gold Rush”? Retiring because he hasn’t sold enough records. “It’s hard to be copper when all of your friends are gold,” sings Enders in that teddy bear voice of his. Perhaps to compensate, he’s strung together the poppiest collection of recordings he’s ever made — an album sonically closer to semi-acoustic Sky Sailing than it is to the Early November, his long-dissolved punk band. “Gold Rush” also bears little resemblance to last year’s “The World We Know,” a muted, sleepy, softly gorgeous disc that had the feel of a rainy day; the clouds have parted and the tone throughout is optimistic and honey-sweet. Even when Enders can’t sleep, worried about the bills, there is a real sense that his discomfort is only temporary. He’s an easy man to identify with in a lousy economy — battered around but firm in his faith (borne out by this album’s existence) that his friends and family will stand by him.

— Tris McCall

Erwin Schrott "Rojotango"

RojotangoErwin Schrott, bass-baritone (Sony Classical)

Angular tango rhythms thrust forward in the insinuating bass. Bandoneon and piano enhance the seductive beat. And Erwin Schrott lends his ideal bass-baritone to the evocative text of Pablo Ziegler’s “Rojotango,” the title track of his new CD. Schrott’s deep, natural, expressive instrument gives voice to the tall, dark and handsome archetype in this collection of tango-inspired songs, yet he is also approachable and earnest. Easily slipping into a growl, laugh or whisper as the text demands, he is a fine singing actor. The less theatrical ballads are well chosen, too, especially Astor Piazzolla’s “Oblivion.” The beginnings and premise of “Rojotango” are promising, and individually its songs mostly work; taken together, they can seem too over-the-top to be affecting. Functioning as music director and arranger (and sometimes also pianist and composer ), Ziegler encourages thickly sentimental renditions and extreme flourishes, from punched, brash piano to a giddy handclap chorus. Of the album’s many instrumentalists, guitarists Claudio Ragazzi and Romero Lumbambo are especially impressive. And Schrott is at his best showing off a lusty hunger for life in Piazzolla’s “Rinascerò” (“I’ll be reborn”).